


Thus With Defiance

by The_Last_Kenobi



Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Asphyxiation, Character Death, Gen, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Poison, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26986114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Last_Kenobi/pseuds/The_Last_Kenobi
Summary: The Dooku/Jinn team was one of the most effective.Until they weren't. Sometimes, there is no escape.Written for Whumptober 2020Day 13 - Oxygen Mask
Relationships: Dooku & Qui-Gon Jinn
Series: Whumptober 2020 [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956463
Comments: 2
Kudos: 39





	Thus With Defiance

The Dooku/Jinn team was one of the most effective Master-Padawan pairs in the Order.

Dooku had begun his career as a Sentinel, and was precise, focused, subtle and lethal in everything he did.

Jinn was—well, at sixteen he was very much a sixteen-year-old. Tall and getting taller every second, gangly and broad-shouldered, sometimes surly. The Padawan was thoughtful, compassionate, and bull-headed.

The two men were so strikingly different, but they achieved such success because of it.

Not to mention they seemed to get their kicks out of constantly bickering, in public, in private, with lightsaber duels, with loudly spoken arguments—and glimmers of amusement in the Master’s eyes, and the faint hints of a smile on the Padawan’s lips.

Dooku held himself aloof from almost everyone, including, perhaps especially, his apprentice.

Except for when they fought.

And except for one day on Nar Kaaga.

There was a complex tapestry of grand proportions to be found in the reports that were filed later, a stunning combination of mob turf wars, royal bloodline disputes, and agricultural rights—a planet-wide mess that took the planet decades to fully recover from.

The Jedi team sent to investigate and assist never recovered.

It started with an smooth landing and a welcome party.

It most definitely peaked with a test-use of experimental jetpacks that did not work as they ought to have, a crash landing in a canyon, and an epic duel of fates with Dooku and Jinn back-to-back, the elder a deadly warrior, graceful and unyielding; the younger a blur of kinetic energy, dancing all over the place.

And it ended with a Master and Padawan locked in a sealed chamber, with poison gas hissing through the vents at high volume.

Dooku paced the edges of the room, searching for confirmation of what he already knew—no way out, not with the injuries they had already taken, not with the amount of gas they had already inhaled—not enough time.

Qui-Gon was half-senseless against one wall, curled around damaged ribs and sporting a badly broken nose that had drenched one side of his face with blood.

The gas was a foggy grey color that was rapidly tinting the room, making it harder to see one another.

...Qui-Gon was dying.

There was absolutely no reason for rescue to come for them anytime soon, and even if it did, there was little chance they would find the Jedi pair before the gas asphyxiated them.

And Qui-Gon Jinn was bleeding out—not from the broken nose, although that was not helping. Something inside was bleeding, and neither of them was qualified to use the Force to heal something like that, even if either of them were capable of accessing the Force properly at the time.

He had already fallen unconscious.

Dooku stared down at the boy.

Logic dictated that he try his hardest to save himself, to hope for escape or rescue, or both, to get out of this mess and carry it back to the Council and the Senate. To preserve the life of the less-injured, more-skilled Master.

But the sharp-eyed man knelt down next to the injured boy, pulled him gently into his lap, and positioned him so that the bleeding began to slow.

And then he slipped into meditation.

Two minutes passed.

Five.

Eight.

The Force was gathered around Qui-Gon, stirring the air in front of his bloodied mouth and nose—filtering it, allowing him to breathe clean air through his clogged throat.

Dooku’s eyes were vague, red-rimmed.

Twelve minutes.

Thirteen minutes.

Dooku’s breath rattled in his lungs, and he could feel his throat tightening and tightening until he wasn’t inhaling anything at all anymore—not poison, not oxygen.

His vision blurred so suddenly that he thought, at first, that the lights had been dimmed.

He reached out with a hand that shook like a leaf in a storm and moved it slowly to rest against his Padawan’s chest.

It was cold.

He was filtering clean air into the lungs of a dead child—

—his dead child.

Dooku tried to say, “ _No_ ,” but there was no point. His throat had closed, his vision was going black, and he could feel his heartbeat thudding off-beat and slower every second. It was the only thing he could hear, an irregular drum beat in his ears.

What a waste it would have been, he reflected, vaguely feeling it as he collapsed backwards, his Padawan still in his arms—to have used the last of his air in a useless plea.

But his body didn’t seem to care about logic and utility, or conserving resources—

Because he was still filtering the air for the blue-eyed boy in his arms, and before he fell into shadows entirely, he felt tears leak out of his eyes, to be absorbed in the poison air.


End file.
